


Venom

by WretchedEscapist



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Fantasizing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Needles, Pining, Pokemon Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Realistic, Self-Harm, Slow Build, Violence, age gap, appropriate use of drugs, cuddles!!, cursing, fear of intimacy, it's pokemon but for adults!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2018-09-07 03:35:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8781439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WretchedEscapist/pseuds/WretchedEscapist
Summary: During a gang war Guzma is nearly assassinated by one of the rival gang's pokemon. Team Skull has limited options on who to get help from.





	1. Chapter 1

With Guzma at the head of the pack, his underlings were fearless. They never lost a single battle. If one pokémon was struck down, another twice as strong would take its place. The rewards they reaped were great as the name they were making for themselves.

Currently they were undergoing one of the largest and longest battles against a rival gang since taking over Po Town. Pokémon and trainer fought side by side in an awesome display of organized chaos. Everywhere claws rent the earth and screeches of agony and rage, both human and otherwise, echoed across the battlefield.

Even Guzma, Team Skull’s ruthless leader, was looking a bit out of breath. He was on his feet rather than his usual crouch, steps light as he seemed to move in time with every move his pokémon, Golisopod, made. As he commanded it he shouted above the chaos, grinning sadistically when the enemy’s fearow was abruptly knocked out of the sky. He panted, watching the rival gang leader call back his spent pokémon.

Guzma made a taunting motion.

“Come on, is that all you got?” he jeered breathlessly, spreading his arms.

 It had been too long since anything had got his blood pumping like this. Beside him someone’s rattata was knocked sideways, sent tumbling to a stop mere inches from Galisopod’s foot. The scream of what could have been an enraged lycanroc split the air as well as the crash of a thunderous attack.

He saw his opponent gesture off to the side and thought nothing of it. As he watched the man take out one last pokéball both he and Golisopod waited eagerly for the next contender to appear.

That’s when something struck him from behind.

Sharp claws tore into his hoodie and the flesh beneath. He arched and cried out, whipping around as he tried to grasp the thing attacking him. Something bit down hard upon his shoulder, shaking its head violently. He fell to the ground, crushing the thing beneath him as he rolled, managing to grab a hold of one of its spindly little legs. With a powerful jerk he yanked it off of himself, causing further injury he couldn’t be bothered to care about.

He was _pissed._

Pinning it to the ground he realized it was a slandit. Confusion furrowed his brow before he looked up, seeing one of the rival gang members sneakily crouched before the bushes nearby. The boy looked startled for having been seen.

It was an ambush. They’d set this up; a final resort for if they should lose.

The salandit clawed its way free, scurrying toward its trainer. An enraged roar from Golisopod signaled its stampede as it charged after the much tinier pokémon.

“Boss!” One of his grunts shouted.

The younger teen came up beside him, looking panicked.

“Yo, boss,” he tried to calm himself, “What the hell was that?”

“They set us up.” He snarled, getting to his feet. “These… mother _fuckers.”_

Before them Golisopod slammed its giant fore claw upon the salandit’s back. The pokémon’s trainer leapt up, pleading for them to not hurt the little creature.

“Golisopod, crush it!” Guzma shouted above him. “Tear it apart!”

The pokémon did precisely as it was told, pinning the flailing reptile between its claws. As one last attempt at fighting back it spit a stream of poison in the bug type’s face. The toxic substance splattered harmlessly against its metal armor. With one harsh movement it crushed the poor salandit, bones snapping and innards gushing out of its gaping maw. Only then did it drop the pokémon, allowing it to fall lifelessly at its distraught trainer’s feet.

Guzma rounded on the grunt next, “What are you doing still standin’ there? Destroy them!” He gestured viciously toward the ongoing brawl behind them.

In the next moments all coordination disappeared. It turned into an all-out war. Pokémon weren’t stopping when their opponents fainted. Blood scored the ground and painted the claw marks. They weren’t finished until the opposing gang was running for their lives.

As Guzma watched his vision began to swim. He stumbled back. His body felt hot. The places where the salandit’s claws and teeth had torn at him burned. Venom was spreading throughout his veins like fire, searing him from the inside. He fell to his knees as the strength left him, the smell of blood and death becoming dull as his senses failed.

The one antidote he’d brought to this fight trembled in his hand as he readied to use it; praying it might work on a human as well as it did pokémon. He had little choice but to try. It was either taking this risk, or dying of the venom. He jabbed the needle into his arm and emptied the syringe. Pulling it out he felt consciousness dwindling, panting softly as he hunched over and let the empty syringe fall from his hand. Darkness closed in on his vision and he fell sideways to the grass, unaware of Galisopod’s shadow as the pokémon hovered above him, concern seeping from its posture and gleaming eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I gave this a lot of thought but not a lot of editing. The whole fic is going to be like that I'm afraid, I hope you enjoy, anyway, and everyone is at least marginally in-character. :)
> 
> ETA: Just for future reference on the age gap here, I headcanon Guzma to be anywhere between 17-22, and Nanu well into his 40s or early 50s.

“Boss!? Oh, no… Boss!?”

“Is he breathin’!?”

“I don’t know!”

“What do we do!?”

Mind aswim with toxins, Guzma could barely comprehend what was happening. He broke from the thick sludge of unconsciousness with an overwhelming sensation of nausea. It clung to him, weighing him down like tar.

“Everybody calm down!” it was Plumeria’s voice. “He… He’s going to be alright. We just need to get him somewhere safe.”

Before anyone else could speak Guzma lurched forward, falling from the arms of the startled grunts who were holding him. On all fours he heaved, but nothing came of it. He bit back the urge to keep trying and forced himself to his feet. His grunts tried to help him but he whirled on them like a wounded beast.

“Yo! Get the hell off me!” he snarled, words slurring. “I’m fine, I can walk by myself.”

Even in his current state he was a force to be reckoned with in their eyes. As concerned as they were, his grunts feared him even more. He turned and paused upon seeing Plumeria. The look on her face floored him. He’d never seen her look at him with such utter fear. Not fear _of_ him, but _for_ him.

“I’m…” he tried, for her sake this time, “I’m fine…”

The words barely left his mouth before his legs buckled.

“Somebody catch him!” Plumeria yelled.

Guzma watched the world spin wildly before once again utter blackness began to eat away at his vision. Voices turned muddy, blurring together just like the pictures he was seeing. Someone grabbed him, pulling his disobliging body skyward. Then, once again there was nothing.

 

((()))

 

For a time there remained that merciful darkness where Guzma felt no pain or anything at all. It was not to last. The first stirrings of wakefulness brought with it a cascade of confusion and agony. He was whirling nauseatingly in a great void, his whole body ached from his heels to the great throbbing force within his head.

The back of his forearm smacked into something hard as his hand flew up unbidden. His vision refused to focus as he tried desperately to get a grasp on his surroundings. With a bit more coordination he reached up and slid his hand over his face, barely able to feel it. He rubbed over his head, pressing at the pounding ache within his skull. A low groan issued from his throat behind tightly clenched teeth.

He didn’t notice he wasn’t alone until he opened his eyes again and saw another man looming over him. He twitched as said man drew closer, invading his personal space and pressing a palm to his forehead.

“N-Nanu,” Guzma’s voice was rough as razorblades.

“Hush, I’m just checking your temperature.”

“What am I doin’ here?” Guzma slurred, avoiding the other man’s hand. “We had an agreement, old man.”

Nanu chuckled at that, standing up again. “I didn’t arrest you; your gang brought you here. Said you’d been poisoned during one of your… territorial disputes.”

Guzma made an irritated noise, but it was obscured by a wince.

 Nanu moved away. Guzma didn’t watch where, but he heard him sit on the couch opposite this one.

“Lucky for you, I had some antidotes lying around,” the older man continued. Guzma heard some typing sounds and glanced over. Nanu had a PC monitor and tower upon the coffee table over there, on which he was doing… something. Guzma didn’t particularly care what.

“If it makes you feel better, your girl Plumeria stayed by for a few hours. I only got her to leave by swearing my own life for yours.” He smirked that evil little smile. “She really cares about you.”

Guzma looked away, nearly rolling his eyes.

“She ain’t my girl. She’s Admin of Team Skull.”

 _‘She cares about all of us,’_ he wanted to add, but decided against it.

Instead, he tried to sit up.

Screaming agony lanced down his back like rivers of lightning. Instantly he was reminded of the wounds left by the salandit attack. A sharp cry escaped him, a noise the likes of which not many people would get the chance to hear. Immediately he fell back to the couch, his vision tunneling as he struggled to calm his breathing.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I haven’t gotten around to patching up your back yet…” Nanu paused as he typed something, “Didn’t wanna waste supplies on someone who most likely wasn’t gonna wake up.”

Guzma glared at Nanu from across the room, though the glint of pain in his gaze took away a lot of the intimidation.

“Yo, what’s that supposed to mean?” he hissed.

“Most folks don’t survive salandit venom if they aren’t given immediate treatment. You’re damn lucky to be alive, that’s what I mean.”

Guzma remembered the single antidote he managed to inject into himself before passing out. A little shiver went down his spine as he realized it was probably the only thing that saved him, even if it hadn’t been enough by itself. A small sliver of guilt wedged its way into his mind. He hated having to rely on others even if he had no choice. If it wasn’t for Nanu, he’d be dead.

“I guess I should thank you, or whatever,” he muttered.

Nanu gave a small chuckle.

“I should be thanking you, Guzma. If it weren’t for you and your gang I’d be bored to death.”

Guzma flinched when something soft and fuzzy rubbed against his hand. He looked over to see a meowth sitting on the floor, begging for attention. With only a token amount of reluctance he dropped his hand again to lightly scratch at its ears. It purred appreciatively.

Come to think of it, there sure were a lot of meowths in here. Guzma glanced over at the couch where Nanu was sitting. There was one curled up beside him, and another lying behind the monitor.

“So,” Nanu said suddenly without looking at him, “do you want me to fix up the wounds on your back now or later?”

Guzma stopped petting, his features suddenly rife with apprehension. On him the emotion looked extremely derisive.

Nanu stood up, the meowth sitting next to him waking up to look at him curiously.

“Not sure why I’m askin’ since we gotta do it now anyways. Give it another day and you’ll have blood poisoning to worry about.”

Panic set in. Guzma could feel his heart racing in his chest. The memory of how painful it felt just to sit up was fresh in his mind. As much as he wanted desperately to fight against the idea, he knew doing so would only make him appear even more pathetic than he already did. Sweat formed on his brow, but he fought to keep a straight face. There was no way around this.

Beside him the meowth he’d been petting began meowing, rubbing against his fingers in an attempt to get him to continue his attentions.

As if sensing his thoughts Nanu asked, “Would you like a painkiller, first?”

“Uh,” Guzma kept his voice even, “What you got?”

“Something I know you’ll like.” Nanu flashed him a smirk.

Guzma was left to think about that as the older man moved off toward the front of the police station. He listened to him open up some cabinets, pulling things from them, all the while wishing he could look without hurting himself in the process.

Nanu returned soon after, sitting on the small table beside the couch. He set down an open bag of cotton balls. In one hand he held an unused syringe and in the other was a small, dark bottle. He pulled the cap on the syringe with his teeth and poked the needle into the top of the bottle, carefully drawing out a dose. Guzma watched, trying not to let his nervousness show.

“You sure that shit’s gonna work?” he questioned derisively.

Nanu set the bottle down, taking the cap from his mouth. His response was as calm and cool as always.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

Carefully he reached down, drawing Guzma’s short sleeve up even further. Guzma subtly averted his gaze as the needle penetrated his flesh. He couldn’t help but close his hand into a fist at the slick, stinging sensation. He was suddenly, painfully aware of the sick dizziness residing within his aching head. He took a short breath and it was over. Nanu withdrew the needle, replacing it with a cotton ball to prevent any medicine escaping the hole.

“We’ll give that a few seconds to kick in. After that, I’m gonna need you to sit up.”

Guzma gave a surprisingly obedient nod. Perhaps it was his nervousness or who he was dealing with, he wasn’t sure, but somehow his constant need for control was conspicuously absent in this moment.

Once more Nanu left, this time to bring over some more medical supplies. Neatly he readied them all upon the table, taking his time and quietly shooing away any meowths who got too curious about what he was doing.

The first sensation to capture Guzma’s attention was the trickling warmth spreading up and down his arm. It reminded him of the poison, only this time it didn’t burn. He only had seconds to be aware of the feeling before all at once the chemicals reached his head. In an instant all his pain was gone. The tension in his body melted away. He couldn’t feel his wounds or much of anything else, anymore. Never in his entire life had he ever felt this relaxed, not even in sleep.

He shifted, head falling back as he sighed. If he sat still long enough he could easily imagine he was floating.

“Feels nice, hm?” Nanu questioned him, sliding a hand over the young man’s shoulder.

“…Yeah…” Guzma breathed.

From Nanu’s perspective it was truly something seeing the boy like this. All that posturing and viciousness was utterly drained from him. It was like having a wild man-eating lycanroc sedated and splayed before him, unable and unwilling to rebuff his touch in its stupor.

But he couldn’t dwell on that now. He had work to do.

Guzma did his best to sit up with a little help from Nanu, the older man directing him to make removing his hoodie and shirt easier. Both were torn and drenched with crusted and cold, drying blood. He tossed them aside to deal with later, inspecting the damage upon Guzma’s back to calculate what he was going to do first.

He perched behind the younger man, grabbing a clean rag and a bottle of disinfectant.

Through a muddy haze Guzma was amazed at how he could barely feel what Nanu was doing to him. Each pass of the rag upon his open flesh merely felt like slight, gentle stroking on unrent flesh.

“None of these are horribly deep,” Nanu informed him, “but you’ll need stitches here… and here…” He lightly traced each spot with his fingertips, gliding beside one marring his shoulder blade. “Maybe here, too.”

It was clear he was mostly talking to himself, now. Guzma was struggling to stay awake through his heavy intoxication.

Reaching over, Nanu dug into his medical bag to draw out a curved needle and some fishing twine.

For what could have been hours Nanu worked. He didn’t spare any effort for his young patient. After several of the wounds were closed up, he finished the job by taping a protective layer of gauze over the damage. Only once he was finished did he allow Guzma to lie down like he so desperately wanted to.

Nanu gazed down at the boy’s curled, half-naked body for a while, before moving off to grab him a blanket. He carefully covered him up before going to gather the young man’s ruined hoodie. With one last glance at his sleeping form he left the police station with that torn and bloody sweater draped over his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think in the comments!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reworked the first part of this chapter. Sorry nothing actually new, here, but new content is on it's way soon enough. Added more feelings and more insight on what happened during Guzma's blackout in the second chapter. Also, no longer explicit.

The night was still thick when Nanu returned. He entered and shut the door quietly behind himself, pausing only to allow a meowth to come dashing inside. The pokémon was damp from rain, as was evident by the way it shook its paws before licking itself profusely.

Nanu removed his jacket and hung it to dry, before toeing off his sandals. Silently he made his way further into the station.

Guzma was sleeping soundly, still. No surprise, there.

Nanu stopped near him as if caught. His grim, crimson gaze rested upon the boy’s motionless form. He waited, the tension in his shoulders fading only once he saw Guzma breathe in. He knew the boy was out of the woods, so to speak, but that didn’t stop the lingering worry.

When that team of misfits appeared at his doorstep carrying their bleeding and unconscious leader Nanu had gone numb. Plumeria was nearly in tears, struggling to hold it together; he’d never seen her so distraught. He’d never heard her ask for anything like she’d begged for him to help Guzma.

The race to save the kid had everyone’s hearts pounding. Though Nanu was excellent at maintaining a composed demeanor, to say he wasn’t just as terrified sick as Plumeria would have been a lie.

Guzma was rambunctious, to be sure, but just like the rest of his band of outcasts Nanu had come to truly care for him over time. In his own way the boy was suffering and in dire need of sympathy. He was abused, a stray just like the rest of them, looking for a place to go and a purpose where otherwise none seemed to exist. 

Nanu drew closer to check on him further, knowing it’d be best to do so while he was unconscious. He dwelled again on how sad and pathetic the boy looked now in contrast to his usual sturdy, unyielding self. Disheveled and conquered; a mighty thing fallen. Nanu reached down and cupped his face. He turned the boy’s head gently to the side and got down, touching his forehead to Guzma’s. He felt warm from sleep, but his fever was long gone. The claminess of his skin had turned to a pleasant softness.

Nanu lingered there, hovering over the boy like a sinister red-eyed shadow. Doubting he’d ever get a chance like this again, he drew his fingers through Guzma’s bleached-white hair just to discover what it felt like when not soaked with sweat. It was shockingly soft, like spun silk between his fingertips. Gently he stroked forward, tipping the boy’s head back ever so slightly. This caused his breath to become uneven and he stirred beneath Nanu’s touch.

Nanu wasn’t particularly concerned. He knew how the drug in his system worked. Even if Guzma woke up he wouldn’t remember this.

It was the darkness within him telling him that, he knew. The darkness welling up where it had no business being; telling him things he shouldn’t want to hear. 

As he stared he fought the urge to lick a trail up Guzma’s collarbone to his sinuous neck. His own sudden desire both surprised and captivated him. He’d never realized just how deep the rabbit hole went when it came to what he felt for the kid; he’d never gotten  _ close _ enough to. He’d always known there was something there, by the way they treated one another in private. By the way he welcomed the kid’s presence even when he stepped blatantly out of line.

Perhaps it was merely a deep, self-inflicted loneliness twisting things. A hunger to fill a long suppressed need. Unlikely as it was that the boy would reciprocate such feelings, Nanu fought to wrestle them down as quickly as they came. He couldn’t allow himself to entertain them; it would cause him nothing but misery.

Beneath his gaze Guzma stirred. Nanu caught the boy’s dull eyes; it was clear he was still very high.

“What’re you…” he tried to speak.

_ “Shh…” _ Nanu soothed him. “I’m just checkin’ up on you.”

As much as he’d have liked to continue his examination Nanu forced himself to withdraw, then. Guzma had proved just how much trust he held for him by simply staying here and submitting to being cared for; it was more than he probably held for the majority of his underlings. To further molest the poor boy while he was sedated would be a violation not even he could stomach himself doing. 

“Go back to sleep...” He murmured, but Guzma looked to already be doing just that.

He stood up and pulled the covers back up over the younger male before leaving. Rather than occupy the PC for the rest of the night he decided it was time to retire to his makeshift ‘bedroom’ beneath the station. He didn’t trust himself to linger in Guzma’s presence at the moment.

Besides, he’d given himself a lot to think about.

 

((()))

 

The next morning Guzma awoke aching and yet again baffled by his surroundings. That was until belated memories of the previous night came rushing back at once in a violent torrent. He glared against the sunlight streaming in from the windows, forcefully willing his agonized body to move. He sat up a little bit only to realize there was a meowth curled on top of him. He frowned a bit, pausing with reluctance to wake the pokémon.

Carefully he shifted from beneath it. The meowth stirred immediately, hopping off of him with a soft  _ ‘mrr’ _ . Guzma was then contested with the task of avoiding stepping on any of the many other feline pokémon as he drunkenly made his way over to the sink. His mouth felt like a desert and his head a tumultuous ocean. It seemed every cell in his body was crying out for moisture. He didn’t bother looking for a cup, turning on the faucet and leaning under the stream.

He remained there for several moments, only breaking from his post with the sound of a door falling shut. He turned off the water, looking up just in time to see Nanu at the front entrance looking back over at him with that familiar stoic stare.

Somehow that gaze seemed different. He couldn’t place the way the older man looked at him, now, as he came forward with easy strides. Something scratched at the back of his addled mind, like a memory struggling to be recalled. Something happened last night. Vaguely he remembered the older man hovering above him, speaking to him softly, but that’s where the pictures ended. He shook it off; it was probably nothing.

Nanu strode over to him, offering him up a bundle of familiar black and white cloth.

“I had your hoodie washed and repaired for you. I know how much you love the thing.”

“Oh, thanks.” Guzma said, visibly taken off guard. He wasn’t used to people being kind to him for no reason.

Typically they only did it to avoid a future beating.

He took the offering quickly and pulled it on just as fast, feeling naked without it in the presence of the other man. Even without a shirt underneath he still felt protected with its warm weight on his shoulders; it was his own personal safety blanket.

“You can go now if you want.” Nanu told him, walking away. “But come see me again in a couple weeks so I can take those stitches out for you.” Now he stopped, giving the younger man a serious look. “Don’t forget.”

Guzma flashed Nanu a little smirk, trying to muster some of his usual pep through the haze of the drugs still lingering in his system. “Yo, don’t stress,” He said, “Your boy Guzma never forgets a date.”

He looked at the glittering pile that was his glasses and gold chain lying upon what was once the police office’s desk. He walked over, grabbing and adorning himself with both before turning to leave.

Not only did he not wish to overstay his welcome, but he was sure his team was worried sick about him. He also couldn’t think of a better way to thank someone than to make himself as scarce as possible. If anyone knew just how unpleasant Guzma was to be around, it was Guzma himself.

“I’ll see ya later,” the young man said with a little wave, before shutting the door behind himself.

He didn’t notice the way Nanu looked at him the second he turned his back, nor the way he stared at the door long after he’d already gone, lost deep in thought. It took the insistent rubbing of a meowth against his leg for a solid thirty seconds, begging for attention, to finally break his melancholic reverie. With a sigh, he bent to scoop the overly affectionate pokémon into his arms.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Might edit this one later, as well. For now, I hope it's not entirely nonsensical. The second part was written after a 6-hour binge of playing Moon. Don't worry about the angst too much, there will be smut soon. ;)

The first thing Guzma asked when he arrived was where that rival gang was skulking. He wanted to wipe them off the face of the planet  _ immediately. _ Plumeria, however, informed him said gang had disbanded after the fight; the loss had caused them to fall apart. Guzma was both amused and disappointed by that news. He’d wanted to get his revenge.

Needless to say, the night of his arrival was a good night for Team Skull.

Days went by with little activity or action after that. The majority of his grunts were getting tired of guard duty, and therefore Guzma had sent a lot of them out to attempt to make a profit whatever way they could. If they asked for leads, he’d usually just make something up. Not that his hunches weren’t typically good ones.

It was late evening. Guzma was dozing upon his bed as he often did around this time; tired from a long day of training both himself and his pokémon. He closed his eyes and fell into a shallow nap. 

The trouble started when he began to  _ dream. _

Ever since the day he left Nanu’s police station he hadn’t thought about what transpired that night. He hadn’t tried to piece together what little memory he had of it. Therefore, his mutinous mind decided to do it for him in the most egregious way possible.

Just like he thought he remembered, it began with Nanu hovering over him. Then the older man forced him down, forced himself onto him. Nanu’s brilliant eyes seemed to glow in the dying halflight. Guzma was too taken to even think of resisting; in fact, his dream self wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything. He was spread beneath Nanu like a whore, and he took it like one as well. Each swift thrust brought him closer and closer to an orgasm he was constantly on the edge of. His dream self reached up, trying to grab and pull Nanu into a searing kiss. He bit into his shoulder instead.

That’s when he was awoken unceremoniously by a loud bang. Layers of sluggish unconsciousness stretched and tore away from him like the sticky silk of a spinarak’s web. He sat up before he was even fully awake, his glasses nearly tipping off his head as he glared at the intruder now standing in his room.

It was just one of his grunts. It took Guzma a moment to realize the teen was saying something.

“W-wait, hold the fuck up,” Guzma told him, desperately needing a moment to collect his addled senses. “…And shut... the fucking door behind you.”

The grunt did both immediately, looking at Guzma with that same worry and near rapturous excitement they always had when they thought they had something he wanted to hear.

“Aight…” Guzma sighed, “What were you saying?”

“Me and a few of the others managed to get a good haul off Route 12!”

“12, huh?” Guzma asked, distractedly. “Details?”

He shifted, one leg partially draped off the bed to lean closer. Only then did he notice just how incredibly hard he was. In fact, his erection was plainly evident now, straining a tent at the front of his pants. He didn’t even bother to hide it. Mainly because the grunt noticed immediately, anyways. His eyes widened as they focused on his crotch. Guzma canted his head slightly.

“Yo, my eyes are up here.” He said with a tired gesture.

He had to fight to keep from laughing when the teen looked away, visibly reddening. 

“Uh-uhm, we got about twenty thousand and about… like, five pokemon.”

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, only occasionally glancing over at his boss.

“Come back when you’ve made a profit off them pokemon, aight?”

“Yes, boss.”

“Unless you wanna hang awhile and help me out with this?”

He gestured to his crotch. The teen looked at him, mortified. He stammered for a long enough time for it to become awkward. 

“I-uhm, I … I’d--” He was flustered out of his mind.

“I’m just messin’ with you,” Guzma clarified with a wicked grin that looked more like the snarl of a lycanroc than a smile. “Get out.”

“O-okay.”

He fled quickly and without another word. Guzma idly wondered if he’d traumatized the poor kid. Sighing, he rubbed a hand over his face.

Why the hell did he dream about  _ Nanu  _ of all people? Maybe it was because he had to see him tomorrow… Yeah, that had to be it. Besides it wasn’t his fault what his mind did while unconscious. He had his share of  _ nightmares  _ to prove it.

Just the mere thought of the other man now was enough to make his insides twist and his head feel light, regardless. His arousal pulsed with the memory of the dream, so fresh in his mind. Nothing about it had been realistic, but that didn’t seem to matter.

He pressed his hand against his crotch, grabbing his hard-on through his pants and pushing it down slightly. He hissed softly with disgust at the cooling wetness near the tip.

Jacking off was the last thing he wanted to do right now, but it looked like he didn’t really have a way around it.

 

((()))

 

On his way out of the mansion Guzma told Plumeria to hold the fort for him. She already knew why. The two talked and kept each other up to date on pretty much everything, including elements of their personal lives. 

Not that this was particularly personal when everyone knew about it.

Halfway through the walk down to the police station Guzma felt the first droplets of rain beginning to fall. The sky was thick with heavy grey stormclouds. He gazed up at them.

He never really talked about just how much he enjoyed the rain, in spite of how easy it was to grow tired of here. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t speak of it. He was sure the majority of his grunts hated it.

Upon his arrival he rapped upon one of the police station doors. A meowth scurried forth to greet him, rubbing up against his ankles. He shoved his hands in his pockets, glancing down at the pokemon.

Nanu was soon there to greet him as well. He flashed the younger man a smirk.

“You remembered. Good. I was worried I was going to have to go in there and fetch you.”

He spoke as he invited the Team Skull Boss inside. The meowth followed closely behind its master as Guzma let the doors fall shut behind him. Already he was removing articles of his attire, setting first his glasses then his gold chain upon the police station desk.

“Take off your jacket and shirt, too.” Nanu told him as he got the medical kit from its cabinet.

“Yeah, yeah.” Guzma said.

He was in the process of tossing his beloved hoodie upon the desk when a strange feeling crawled up his spine. He glanced over at Nanu, realizing abruptly that what he felt was self-consciousness. He hesitated on taking off his white shirt, before doing it quickly with some annoyance at himself. Why the hell did he care if the other man saw him half-naked or not? It wasn’t anything he hadn't glimpsed before.

Unfortunately, frustration at his own emotions didn’t make them go away.

Nanu passed behind him and their proximity set his teeth on edge.

What was going on with him?

Was it the dream he’d had last night? Still nagging at his subconscious like a mental thorn?

Guzma didn’t let on that anything was wrong as he followed Nanu over to the futon, pausing a stride or so away with his arms crossed over his chest.

Nanu gestured for him to have a seat.

“With your back to me.”

Guzma did as he was told, slouching as he always did. The other man took up residence behind him. Gentle fingers glided down from his shoulder blade along the length of his spine. Guzma’s eyelids drooped a bit at the pleasurable sensation. Goosebumps broke out all over his body. He hoped with everything in him that Nanu didn’t notice them. Idly he grabbed his own forearm as if that might help smooth them down.

“Good…” Nanu spoke under his breath, “You’ve healed well.”

He reached over to grab the tweezers and scissors from the table beside them. Then began the long process of removing each suture, one by one.

A meowth jumped up in front of Guzma, mercifully giving him something to do with his hands. He stroked the feline until it was stretched out over his leg, purring warmly.

“You never did give me the whole story about what happened out there.” Nanu pointed out conversationally.

Guzma frowned at the memories. He'd figured Plumeria might have told him, but then again she only got to see the aftermath.

“It was a mass battle. Nothin’ we haven’t been through before. After I crushed the other boss’s pokemon, though, they sicced the slandit on me.”

Guzma gave a sardonic laugh.

“I won fair and square, so they decided to play dirty.”

Nanu remained silent, listening, growing more and more upset as the story drew on.

“They ain’t around no more.” Guzma continued, smiling a bit. “Disbanded after the battle. Couldn’t take gettin’ beat.”

Nanu was slightly relieved to hear that, but it didn’t put his fears to rest. 

“You know,” Nanu muttered, “Every time you go out to fight a war you run the risk of never coming back.”

Something about those words struck Guzma deep. Not because he gave half a fuck about his own life; it was something in the other man’s voice. Something he wasn’t used to hearing when it came to his own wellbeing. At least, not from someone so much older. 

“I can take the heat, old man.” Guzma told him, but his voice was soft; not the razor’s edge it usually was. “When trouble comes our way, I ain’t lettin’ my gang go out there without their leader.”

“I get that…” Nanu said as he snipped another suture, “But you can’t keep doing this. Not if you want to live past your twenties. I ain’t going to have you or any of your Team dying under my watch, you hear me?”

His voice was deadly serious.

Guzma bristled at being told what to do, but at the same time he remained moved by the other man’s concern. Even after the way Guzma had treated him the first time they met; how he’d obliterated him in battle and gloated like he always did. Sure it had been a long time ago, but it still remained fresh in his own mind.

“Tch,” he hissed, “This was the first time anybody got hurt. It won’t happen again.”

“Well. You never know.” Nanu reminded him,” You nearly died on me. I’ll never forget that. Don’t you forget it, either.”

Guzma felt the urge to apologize and snap at him simultaneously, leaving him tense and silent as he softly scraped his nails through the meowth’s fur. He didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t do anything too strenuous for a while, alright?” Nanu changed the subject, “You wouldn’t want to reopen any of these cuts.”

“Yeah.” Guzma said quietly. “Thanks.”

Nanu laid his palm upon Guzma’s thigh, then, giving it a squeeze. The younger man caught his breath. The sensation went straight to his dick. He glanced back at Nanu, shivering when he felt the other man’s breath against his nape. He wasn’t sure if he’d accidentally leaned back or the other man had moved forward.

“No need to thank me, I’m glad to help.”

They were close, incredibly close. Guzma could feel the other man’s breath against the side of his neck. He allowed the proximity, unable to not enjoy it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever let anyone get this close to him. He hungered for meaningful contact. Anything less than that was too much of a bore for him to bother with.

“I care, Guzma. You know that, don’t you?”

Those words struck a chord within him. He looked away, exhaling shortly.

“Don’t,” he managed, cutting himself off.

_ ‘I don’t even care about me, why the hell should you?’ _

“I care about you.” Nanu said.

Then he pressed his lips to the side of Guzma’s neck. Guzma arched into it, his hand falling upon the one nestled against his thigh. It tensed, fingers attempting to entwine. Nanu’s hand was burning hot. His breath caught in his throat. The older man trailed kisses up to his jawline, sending goosebumps cascading all down his side.

“N-nh…” Guzma barely managed to make a sound.

Then, all at once, time kicked back into motion. Guzma realized what was happening; what he was allowing to happen. His own desires were crushed in the wake of something tumultuous and inexorable welling up from deep within him. 

“Y-yo!” He cried, leaping up off the couch and backing away. “What the hell, man?!”

He was out of breath and Nanu could see the fear in his eyes where disgust should’ve been. He didn’t quite understand it; but he understood rejection. He got up as well, making to leave immediately.

“My mistake,” Nanu spoke, sounding tired as always, “I’m sorry, Guzma. Come see me again if your injuries start acting up again, alright?”

He left the room before either of them could do or say anything else.

Stuck in the deafening silence of the police station, now alone, Guzma stood there breathing hard through his nose. His mind was racing. He looked upon the meowths staring at him with peculiar curiosity. He could feel their eyes on him as he threw his clothes back on, boring holes into his back.

He left the station and entered into sheets of warm, pouring rain. What was going on? Why didn’t he feel disgusted someone so much older had made advances on him? Why did he want to go running back, begging for forgiveness; begging for more?

_ Why was he like this? _

He didn’t feel this way for anyone; no one caught his interest or fancy. No one had in years. He hadn’t the slightest clue how to deal with these emotions, especially toward another man. 

The truth was, he was terrified.

Thunder crashed above him, lightning flashing its eerie shadows.

Guzma reacted to fear the same way he reacted to most things; with pure unadulterated rage. He hated himself for his own insecurities, but he hated himself even more for hurting Nanu as badly as he knew he just had by running away like the cowardly little piece of shit he was.

He didn’t really feel it when he slammed his fists into the concrete wall surrounding Po Town. He felt the impact, the ripple of his own strength shaking him to the very core. Again and again he struck until blood ran down in rivulets upon the concrete, mixing with the rainwater, and at last he could feel the sharp blistering agony. He cried out from the pain both within and without, grasping his hair in his bloodied hands.

“Guzma! What is wrong with you!?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tiny bit of Guzma/Male Grunt in this chapter with an even tinier pinch of bloodplay, forewarning.
> 
> Classic Guzma. He has no idea what to do with emotions.
> 
> Sorry this chapter took so long, I had a bit of a block due to some indecision, but everything's flowing smoothly now. I hope you enjoy, and that this isn't too much of a tease.

Almost as if an invisible storm cloud hovered within the mansion and the area surrounding it, the air was electrified. Tensions were high for the past week since Guzma came back from Nanu’s place. Much like a family Team Skull was tight, so much so that moods tended to be pervasive. When Guzma was unhappy, _everyone_ was. He didn’t have to be angry and throwing things for his underlings and those who cared about him to vicariously feel the stress.

But this was the first time the grunts had grown bold enough to bring one of their numerous petty scraps within the mansion walls.

Plumeria was drawn out from her room by the raucous chanting of excited teens. She leaned against the railing as she peered down into the common area. The grunts had formed a broken sort of circle about two of their own. Said boys were currently in the middle of a violent scuffle.

She winced when one of them got punched across the face so hard he spun and dropped as though he’d been shot. When the one still standing fell upon the other, goaded on by the chanting of the instigators around him, Plumeria decided it was time she step in.

She headed down the stairs and gave a sharp whistle to draw their attention. The rabble quieted quickly upon sight of their Admin.

“That’s enough!” She shouted.

The onlookers began to bail, even going so far as leaping over railings to get the hell out of there.

Unfortunately by the time she got to the actual battleground the second contender had already vanished with the rest.

It was almost adorable the way the losing grunt lie sprawled out upon the floor. She would have smiled if she wasn’t so concerned about him. She gave him a sharp jab in the side with the toe of her shoe.

“Hey, you still breathing?”

An answering groan of pain told her that he was. She got down in a crouch to get a better look at him, her brow furrowed. He rolled over slightly before sitting up.

“How you feelin’?” she asked.

He looked toward the doors of the mansion, wondering where everyone went. One second he was surrounded and the next, no one at all.

“Hey!” Plumeria snapped her fingers to get his attention, “Stay with me.”

Neither of them noticed Guzma. He was leaning against the railing above, peering down like a great looming beast. He’d almost been the one to go down there, but Plums beat him to it. His pale gray gaze was dark as he watched her dote over the injured boy. He wanted to know why the peace in here had been interrupted by someone other than himself. A fight here or there amongst his crew was always fine; it relieved tension and arguably brought the gang closer in the long run. But this? This was straight up insubordination. They knew better than to bring their squabbles in here. In _his_ territory.

Rather than go down there himself he motioned one of the grunts near him over.

“Bring him to me,” he ordered, _“Now.”_

“Yes, boss.”

Guzma left him to it, disappearing within his room once more. It had become his dark domain over the days. When he wasn’t angry and throwing things he was in there, quiet and melancholic to the point where those who witnessed it were almost more scared of his depression than his temper. This wasn’t what they were used to. Even Plumeria was worried.

They’d gotten in arguments enough times throughout the week, each time Guzma absolutely refused to tell her a damn thing.

It was infuriating.

“The boss wants to see you.”

Plumeria had managed to get the boy to his feet and confirmed the absence of any concussion or broken nose. His bandana was still about his neck, his nose bleeding freely down his face to soak into it. At those words his eyes went wide with fear.

He knew he was in deep shit.

“Don’t worry about it too much,” Plumeria told him, giving him a soft pat on the back. “I’m sure he just wants to know what happened.”

The boy nodded at her, thankful for the words of encouragement. Then she watched him be led off like a lamb to the slaughter. Plumeria frowned after the duo as they ascended the stairs. She hoped Guzma wasn’t going to give the kid too much grief, but the boss was always unpredictable; inexplicably generous one minute and a raging beast the next. She never quite knew what to expect from him.

The kid was just as clueless as she was.

He stood within Guzma’s quarters after the taller grunt led him inside. The room felt like a tomb. It was dark and cold, dimly lit by a lantern situated on a far table.

“Got ‘im, boss.”

Guzma didn’t at first say anything. He reclined in his chair, tall wine bottle in hand as he stared down at them both imperiously.

“You can go.” He told the taller grunt.

The order was met with immediate obedience, the door shutting behind him and sealing his comrade’s fate. The teen’s legs were shaking so badly he hoped Guzma couldn’t see it from where he sat. The adrenaline from the fight had wrecked his nerves and this predicament wasn’t helping.

Guzma remained maddeningly silent as he stared the boy down. That steely gaze pierced right through him as he struggled to keep his bleeding nose under control with just a hand.

“What happened?” Guzma finally spoke.

“Nothin’ serious, just me n’ another guy got in a scrap--”

“Mind tellin’ me why you couldn’t take it outside?”

The kid choked on his words, swallowing down blood.

“Well, he… I… we wasn’t thinkin’. I’m sorry, boss.”

Guzma stood up, then, setting his wine bottle down hard upon the small table beside him. He approached the boy, towering over him even without elevated ground. He reached for the kid’s throat and the grunt tensed up in reflex, flinching backwards with wide, terrified eyes. Guzma’s hand closed about his bandana, yanking it off with a sharp pull. He then shoved it into the grunt’s face.

“Plug that shit up!” he snarled, “You’re bleedin’ all over my floor.”

The grunt did as he was told, using the bandana to put pressure on his injured nose.

Guzma didn’t back off. His presence was like a physical thing. His dark aura put pressure on the grunt’s weak knees. He gazed up at the man, struggling to stay standing. Guzma caged him there with a hand upon the doorframe, staring him down. The proximity made his heart start to race for all the wrong reasons. He should have been terrified; instead a twinge of excitement had his face heating up beneath the bandana and all that blood. He dodged Guzma’s keen gaze, legs weakening so much that he had to brace himself against the door.

“What’s wrong with you?” Guzma asked, so quiet it was almost a whisper.

He reached out and grasped the boy by the front of his tank, forcing him to at least a fraction of his full height.

“Do you hate the sight of me that much?”

The question was jarringly unexpected. The grunt immediately shook his head, looking up into Guzma’s eyes at last. Even through the blood caked in his nose he could still smell the alcohol on the man’s breath.

“Of course not, boss!” He responded, his voice wavering.

Guzma gave a sardonic _‘heh’_.

Yeah. _Of course_ not.

He grabbed the bandana from the grunt’s hand, exposing his face and the blush upon his cheeks. Guzma narrowed his eyes and the grunt couldn’t help but look away again, embarrassed.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that the boy wanted him. Most of the grunts did. They’d be easy pickings if he’d ever had the desire to do the taking. It was an unspoken rule, really, between him and Plumeria, that they never would. The carefully crafted family they had here would fall apart the instant anyone got _special favors._

But Guzma wasn’t thinking about that, now. No, he was thinking about Nanu. He was thinking about the feelings the man had generated in him, the possibility that maybe he could take it out on someone else and it would all go away. Maybe all he needed was sex.

Fueled by copious amounts of alcohol and just the right pinch of desperation, it didn’t take much to talk himself into it.

Guzma grabbed the grunt by the jaw and forced him into a kiss.

It took the boy a moment to realize what was happening. His mouth opened in shock and Guzma’s tongue thrust inside, sliding against his own. The man’s piercing clicked against his teeth, alerting him to its presence.

He grasped Guzma’s dark jacket and melted against him with a shaky moan. All Guzma could taste was blood. Whatever trickles ended up in his mouth he didn’t swallow, allowing it to flow down and be smeared between them.

The boy didn’t seem to notice or care. When Guzma tugged the grunt up higher by his shirt and slid his thigh between the boy’s legs he was met with instant gratification. The kid cried out softly into his mouth, his hips bucking. He was hard already. Guzma couldn’t help but break the kiss to chuckle near sadistically in response.

The grunt didn’t mind that, either. He panted needily against Guzma’s throat as his erection slid against the man’s thigh.

Knowing the boy was bound to become loud, Guzma dragged the kid over to the bed. He shoved him onto it and climbed on top of him before the boy could get situated. The grunt backed up as best he could to give his boss room, his eyes cloudy and lust-drunk.

“Boss, I…” he breathed reverently, just before Guzma silenced him by shoving him down with a hand to the chest.

“This doesn’t leave the room, ya got that?” Guzma growled dangerously.

The grunt nodded vigorously in response. His eagerness was almost sickening. Guzma dove in and kissed him anyway; rough and demanding, soft tongue and smooth metal. Then he gripped the boy’s short blue hair and forced his head back to sink his teeth into the tender flesh of his neck.

With a hoarse cry the grunt arched beneath him, rolling his hips up to achieve some friction. The feeling of Guzma’s tongue against his pulse point had his vision wavering. He held onto the man’s hoodie as if his life depended on it.

“Ah… Yes…!” the kid gasped out suddenly, “That’s s-so good… Guzma--!”

Guzma’s hand clasped over his mouth, his steely gaze dark and intimidating in a way the boy had never witnessed before. It made his heart skip.

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth,” Guzma panted, “do you want the whole mansion to hear you?”

The kid clung to him, still, a pathetic whimper rising in his throat. Guzma listed to one side, reaching a hand down to grope the kid’s crotch as he pressed his face into his neck.

That’s when he heard the click of a door handle twisting. With the alcohol in his system his reaction was as sluggish as his senses. He froze, then looked toward the door.

“Yo, Guz--”

Plumeria froze, too. Her eyes went wide at the scene before her.

With a huff of annoyance Guzma pushed himself off the kid, giving him room to leave. The grunt looked baffled and then terrified when he noticed Plumeria. His gaze darted between her and his boss, then back again. With the silence thickening he took the hint to get the hell out of there. Plumeria stepped aside to let him flee. Her gaze remained fixed on Guzma as she shut the door behind her.

His cool, aloof exterior was nothing short of infuriating at this moment. Did he even understand what he’d been doing just now?

“How long has this been going on?” she blurted, her emotions getting the best of her.

“How long has _what_ been going on?” he retorted.

“You know what the hell I mean, Guzma!”

Her tone cut him like a razorblade. It reminded him of his father; the endless nights of being belittled and screamed at. He got off the bed to gain his full height, hackles rising. It was all reflex. He’d never do anything to harm her, he hardly even wanted to raise his voice at her.

“It hasn’t! It ain’t--... it ain’t like that, Plums. This was an accident; I don’t know what I was thinking.”

With that answered, Plumeria visibly calmed. Concern shone in her eyes.

“Why won’t you tell me what’s been going on with you?” she asked.

It was obvious this was far from the first time she’d brought this up. Guzma looked away, ignoring the way she looked at him.

“This isn’t just about you, you know.” She continued, “It’s affecting the entire Team. Why do you think that fight happened out there?”

Guzma glanced at her.

“You’re upset and everyone knows it. Just tell me and get it over with.”

He grit his teeth so hard they squeaked. How could he just admit to her the very thing he could hardly admit to himself? All this time they’d been working together they’d become like siblings, possibly even closer than that. They could tell each other anything. Comfort each other late in the night about their deepest insecurities and come out of it with their relationship only stronger than before. But this… how could he possibly tell her _this?_

_“No.”_

“Guzma…”

“I can’t!” he shouted, growing more exasperated by the second. “Just… just let me go out for a walk.”

“I’m not letting you go anywhere until you tell me what’s going on!”

Plumeria stood fast, taking him by surprise. She’d never done that before. Then again, things had never quite fallen into such disrepair for so long before, either.

He slammed his palm against the doorframe, pinning her similarly to how he’d pinned the grunt earlier. She looked up unflinchingly into his steel-colored gaze, arms crossed. His rage was rising; always so easy to set him off and watch him go.

But she knew with all her heart that he’d never hurt her.

With a roar of pure annoyance he spun, grabbing the wine bottle off his side table and hurling it at the wall. It shattered into a thousand pieces. He was panting, every muscle tense; dangerous as a cornered incineroar.

“Plumeria,” he snarled, using her full name for the first time in quite a while. _“Please._ I need. To _go.”_

It was at that moment that she realized this wasn’t going to work out the way she wanted it to. He was just going to trash this entire room and end up collapsed in a sobbing heap by the end of it. Neither of them any better; him still unwilling to tell her shit.

“Just promise me this,” she began, “Promise me you’ll work this out before you come back. Can you do that?”

She looked at him, making sure to catch his gaze.

Guzma shook his head as if to refuse, grabbing a handful of his own hair and gripping hard enough to hurt. He hissed a breath.

“I promise,” he muttered at last.

That was good enough for her. Plumeria gave a small nod and then left the room, leaving the door open for him.

He exited soon after, storming past her and the grunts standing guard. They both looked worried, but knew better than to ask questions.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. It’s been a while, but I finally decided to come back to this fic. I’m not at all confident with continuing, and I hope my attempt is not a complete disappointment for all of you who have been waiting for so long.
> 
> Thank you so much for your kind comments. And I apologize in advance for any dissatisfaction.

Though the sun had fallen below the horizon the night and rain carried with it a tropical warmth. Humidity laid across the landscape like a great moist blanket. Guzma was soaked to the bone when he exited Po Town.

One of the grunts standing guard asked him where he was going. Guzma just told him _‘for a walk.’_

He honestly didn’t know.

The relief of being out of the mansion was short and bittersweet with the promise he'd made to Plums looming over him. _How the hell was he supposed to follow through with it?_ He questioned if it was even possible.

Breathing deeply he rolled his shoulders, trying to relieve the tension in his neck before it bloomed into a migraine. He got so upset sometimes he feared the rage would shake him apart. It would make him sick to his stomach if he let it.

His fingertips grazed the row of pokéballs at his belt, thinking about bringing Golisopod out. The big pokémon always cheered him up.

Beneath the pouring rain he did not hear the furtive shifting of feet behind him.

He passed slowly by a decrepit lamp post, gaze downturned as he tread upon the cobblestone path. Maybe he could crash at one of the houses in Po Town until he figured out a plan? He was sure the grunts who claimed them would be thrilled to accommodate him. Though, the thought of admitting to being _‘in the doghouse’_ so to speak would be a nasty blow to his pride.

A lanky figure detached itself suddenly from the darkness behind him and leapt upon his back. An arm hooked about his throat and a knee collided with his side.

Guzma’s reaction was instantaneous. He snatched his assailant and wrenched them sideways, using his weight to his advantage. He tore them off their feet and broke their grip at the same time. Shoes squeaked against the rain-slicked ground as he took his aggressor down. Together they hit the unforgiving cobblestone. His elbow sliced down hard into their abdomen upon impact. The other person gave a harsh cry which indicated to him two things; they were young and male.

The boy twisted beneath him like an eel. Guzma noticed the flash of a blade seconds before it bit into his cheek. He snarled as he fell upon the smaller male, but was too slow to grab the weapon. The next thing he knew was the impact against his bicep and the deep, throbbing ache.

He flinched, eyes wide, too shocked to register he’d just been stabbed. The boy writhed as he was restrained, his wrist crushed against the slick cobblestone below as Guzma pinned him. To encourage better cooperation he delivered a swift punch across the boy’s jaw. The kid’s head snapped back and his struggles died down. Guzma sat astride him. His superior weight and strong thighs would prevent him from being bucked off.

“You idiot,” Guzma spat. “You have no idea who the fuck you’re messin’ with!”

He hit him again and again, stopping only because his dominant arm was starting to refuse to cooperate. Guzma grabbed the kid by the shirt with his left hand, twisting it so that it cut off his breathing. The boy choked, grasping weakly at Guzma’s forearm.

“You--” the boy managed to gasp, “You… you k--” he coughed.

Guzma let up, just slightly, if only out of some dim curiosity.

“What?” he snarled dangerously.

“You killed my only friend,” the boy breathed.

These words left him visibly baffled.

“I ain’t never killed nobody.”

“M-my salandit…”

Guzma’s brow furrowed as the memories hit him like a freight train. He hadn’t even recognized the boy, whether it be because of the low lighting or the fact his mind had been jostled by the salandit in question’s venom.

“Yeah?” Guzma retorted, “Well your only _‘friend’_ almost killed me!”

“It wasn’t her fault,” The boy retorted with all the force he could muster. “It was…”

“Yeah? It was yours? Would you rather Golisopod had crushed you, you stupid fuck?”

He shoved the kid down and smacked him hard across the face. He didn’t want to hear the answer; if the knife in his arm was any indication he already knew what it was.

With his right hand planted firmly upon the kid’s clavicle Guzma felt for the weapon lodged within his bicep. He winced when he touched the hilt, disturbed by the feeling of the stiff, unnatural protrusion. Carefully he curled his fingers around it, then yanked it free. A torrent of heat poured forth. Blood ran down his arm in hot rivulets to trickle across the boy’s flesh as well, blending with the rainwater.

Beneath him he could feel the boy trembling. His entire body shook with irregular convulsions. It took Guzma a second to realize he was sobbing. It was hard telling whether the response was from pain or fear, but he didn’t much care either way.

“Tch,” Guzma brought the knife down, inspecting it. “Keep cryin’, see if it helps.”

The knife was a puny little switchblade, but that didn’t stop the kid’s eyes from widening in fear at the sight of it. Guzma brought it closer to the kid’s face.

“How ‘bout I give you somethin’ to match, huh?” he vaguely gestured toward his arm with the tip of the blade.

“N-no! Don’t…! don’t...!” the boy begged him, his body tensing as he began to squirm.

All in all, it was by far the most pathetic display Guzma had ever seen.

“Shut the fuck up!” he snarled, slamming the boy down again.

Smoothly Guzma shifted his grip on the knife.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” the boy said, over and over again like a mantra. “I’m sorry, please… I’m sorry… I don’t know what I was thinking, I--”

Guzma growled, pinning him as best he could with one hand.

“Keep squirmin’ and I might hit somethin’ important.”

The kid suddenly went still. He was breathing so fast Guzma thought he might faint. He gave the kid a disgusted look, before suddenly pulling back and closing the switchblade. He slipped it into his pocket as he got up off the boy.

“Fuckin’ idiot.” He growled, giving him a kick to the side of the head.

The boy gave a hoarse cry and curled up into the fetal position.

“Don’t you ever let me catch you around here again, you hear me!?” Guzma yelled at him, “Next time I won’t be all talk!”

Guzma didn’t bother with him any longer, beginning to move off when he nearly ran directly into a grunt. The teen’s sudden appearance startled him so bad he nearly swung at him.

“Whoa, boss, what’s goin’ on over here?” the grunt asked. “I heard you all the way across--”

“You were supposed to be keepin’ watch!” Guzma shouted, his voice breaking and startling the grunt further.

He pointed to the curled up form on the ground.

“That little fucker pulled a knife on me. Take him out, and make sure he knows what’ll happen if he comes around our turf again.”

At the grunt’s questioning look, Guzma drew a line across his throat with his thumb. The grunt looked decidedly shocked.

“Y-yes boss.”

Guzma stormed off, not bothering to watch the proceedings. Whatever the grunt decided to do with the boy wasn’t his problem. He tried to ignore the stinging, hot pain in his eyes, for once thankful for the rain.

 

((()))

 

With every step his arm ached worse. The pain was deep. It throbbed in time with his heart. But it was nothing compared to the agony in his chest.

The previous encounter had left him shaken. Mixed with the usual rage something disgusting and riddled with thorns twisted within him. Something he knew well but would never get used to. He was no stranger to being a _fuck-up._

He’d done the wrong thing by telling Golisopod to murder that boy’s pokémon. This was all his fault. But what was he supposed to do, now? Perhaps he could get him a new salandit? No, that would just be like salt in the wound. Anyone who cared about their pokemon that much knew they were irreplaceable. Like family.

 _Fuck._ He hadn’t even known. Hadn’t even thought someone would be stupid enough to send their beloved _pet_ out to attempt a murder. More tears streamed from his eyes.

_Fuck!_

He gritted his teeth, letting the side of a lamp post feel his rage this time. Agony and regret roiled through him in a tumultuous catastrophe.

He backed up, his hands were shaking. His knuckles were bleeding. He clasped his hand over the wound on his arm to stem the blood flow, unthinking. The same way he found himself walking, his steady stride leaving him standing, eventually, broken and bleeding yet again at Nanu’s doorstep.

He knew he couldn’t ask for help after what happened before.

He hissed a breath, beginning to pace back and forth before the police station. Rain came down like a waterfall. He was soaked and despite the humidity was shivering. Though perhaps that was merely from the emotion tearing him apart from the inside.

He cursed to himself again, riled up as he tried his best to bite back the sorrow. Inside his own voice mimicked that of his father.

_‘Guzma, what is wrong with you!?’_

He found himself on his knees, his glasses toppling to the ground as his hands covered his forehead and grasped his bleached-white hair.

_‘What have you done!?’_

Destruction was all he had ever been good at, how could he ever hope to fix anything? He couldn't mend what he'd broken. He couldn't do anything but _fuck up._

_‘I don’t even know who you are, anymore.’_

A soft weight upon his leg. A meowth, shaking and wet, was crawling onto his lap in an attempt to find shelter from the downpour. It mewed at him helplessly, cuddling against him.

Numbly he hugged the Pokémon close and got up, prepared to take it over to sit beneath a nearby tree.

That's when, like a curtain unveiling, the front door to the police station slowly swung open. Guzma was left standing within the warm glow of the interior, disheveled, dripping with blood and rain. The meowth immediately leapt from his arms to dash inside, leaving him to fend for himself beneath the scrutinizing gaze of Nanu's silhouette.

Nanu looked upon him. His expression was as flat as ever until he noticed the blood.

“Guzma, is that you...? Come here.”

On unsteady feet he backed up instead, shoving his hands in his pockets. His dark-rimmed pale gaze met the other man's in the best attempt at faux bravery he could muster.

The older man's eyes first fell upon his sliced cheek, before trailing down to the river of blood coating his arm. His eyebrows rose slightly.

“Come in before you catch your death.”

Guzma tried to steady his voice, hiding his face by turning it. Shadows hopefully concealing the fact he'd just been crying.

“You've done enough for me already, old man.” He spoke through gritted teeth, it was the only way he could keep the tears out of his voice.

Though his words were sullen, hardly audible above the pouring rain, Nanu felt them like an icy fist about his heart. He realized, then, that the young man would rather suffer than be alone with him again. It hurt. It stung terribly, but Nanu only showed the barest glint of emotion behind those crimson eyes.

He wasn't going to push it.

“I only want to help you. If you change your mind, the door's open.”

Nanu retreated back into the station, taking with him the warm glow and the promise of shelter.

The rain pelted Guzma; a constant angry presence punishing him from above. He gripped his wound until that deep ache twisted his stomach, digging his fingers into his bicep. He backed up, hating himself, glaring at the ground as he waged an internal war.

Again he dropped to his knees, covering his face with his hands as he sobbed helplessly.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boy gets some tlc after having such a hard time these past couple chapters.

 

The raucous clatter of Guzma’s glasses and necklace upon the police station counter announced his presence far more acutely than the gentle creak of door hinges and briefly amplified patter of rain.

Nanu took his eyes off the computer screen and turned his attention toward the boy. Several meowth momentarily roused from their stations about the room as well, turning to assess the situation like small, furry sentinels.

Hunched over the counter braced by bloodied hands Guzma stood there with his head down, wet hair spiked and dripping. He didn’t look at the older man. Just stood there breathing shakily, bowed as if awaiting the executioner’s ax.

It had taken nearly half an hour for him to calm down. Ten minutes to even consider coming in here. He was shaking, chilled to the core. Rainwater and blood dripped and flowed in tandem upon the counter before his eyes, swirling together in artistic whirls of red.

“What happened out there, huh?” Nanu asked, his calm, tired voice carrying easily across the quiet space between them.

“I got jumped.” Guzma stated, not trusting his voice enough to say more than that.

With careful movements Nanu rose and approached, making sure to keep the counter between them. He didn’t want to make Guzma uncomfortable by getting too close, skittish as he seemed.

“Let me see.”

Guzma hesitated a moment. The cut on his cheek was plainly visible when he lifted his head. He pulled up his sleeve, showing off the knife wound as well as bloodied and bruised knuckles. Still he avoided the other man’s gaze as though ashamed.

Nanu spoke up again, “That it?”

Guzma nodded without a word.

“Alright then. Come on.”

Mutely Guzma obeyed without hesitation. Nanu led him downstairs, past a gun rack, hallway, and into a locker room. White fluorescents reluctantly flickered to life above with the resounding snap of a switch.

“Showers and towels’re over there,” Nanu gestured to the left as he moved inside. “Warm up and rinse all that blood off, okay?”

From within a cabinet he retrieved a bottle and set it upon the bench closest to Guzma.

“Clean your wound out with this.”

Without the cloying humidity outside to keep him warm Guzma’s temperature was dropping even further, as was obvious by the way he was hugging himself and trying not to shiver. He gave a little nod, his jaw tense. Nothing in the world sounded more inviting right now than a warm shower.

“Get to it, then. Leave your clothes on the floor for me.”

With that Nanu left him to his own devices.

Now alone in the room Guzma found a chill creeping down his spine for an entirely different reason. The locker room, now vacant, was deeply unsettling.

Before doing anything else he plucked a pokéball from his belt and with the press of a button Ariados appeared. The bug pokémon looked around, little feet ticking against the floor tile as it circled to get a grasp on its surroundings.

“Keep an eye out for any ghosts for me, a’ight?” he told the spider pokémon.

Ariados looked up at him and gave a cry in response, its hind appendages twitching.

“Thanks homie,” Guzma said as he grabbed the bottle Nanu had left for him on the bench.

After skimming some fine print he deciphered that it was antibacterial soap. He took it with him to the shower stalls. His hoodie came off and hit the floor with a heavy splat, the rest of his soaking wet attire following suit. It was quite a chore to peel them off with bruised and bloodied hands, but he managed.

The shower water was steaming hot and he welcomed the pain. Against his wounds it shocked him awake before swiftly sapping the final dregs of strength from him.

Outside, Ariados curled up beside the stall and gazed out at the locker room’s expanse. It kept watch attentively until Nanu quietly returned, entering through the push-open door without a sound. Ariados stood up, its back appendages bristling, until it realized what it was looking at was, in-fact, not a ghost.

Nanu gave the pokémon a curious smirk as he approached. He recognized this one. It was one of the few which had played a part in his defeat the first and last time he and Guzma had battled.

“Well hello there.”

The bug chittered in greeting, watching Nanu gather Guzma’s clothing off the floor. It curled up closer to the shower, enjoying the steam permeating from beneath the curtain.

“You come and get me if he needs anything...” Nanu idly told the spider pokémon without looking at it.

It chittered in understanding as he left the room as quietly as he’d come.

With the use of the facilities down here, Guzma’s clothes were dried and waiting for him on the bench minutes before he exited the shower. He toweled off amidst the lingering steam. Ariados followed behind him like an obedient puppy when he made his way over to the benches.

Upon finding his clothes dry and laid out for him he dressed quickly. The warmth which infused them was deeply soothing in a way which made him want nothing more than to curl up and go to sleep. He fought the urge as he got down on Ariados’ level.

He stroked its head affectionately and it leaned into his touch, rubbing itself against his palm. He muttered something soft and loving just for the bug to hear, before at last returning it to its ball.

Finding himself alone yet again he remained crouched, unmoving. His mind was racing, but it was too much for his tired brain to process right now. So many mistakes piled on top of each other, fighting for attention. A monument; a forever-growing centerpiece only he could see. Every damn day it just got bigger and uglier. He placed a hand upon the bench and pushed himself up.

What was he gonna do, now?

He decided the first step would be exiting the locker room. After pushing the door open he shoved his hands in his warm pockets and headed directly toward the stairs, sending subtle, nervous glances behind himself as he went.

Nanu was waiting for him upstairs. He offered him a seat beside him on his favorite couch.

Without hesitation Guzma took it. He completely lacked any of the avoidance Nanu expected from him, sitting comfortably and even allowing their legs to touch. He was tired, clearly, draping himself over the cushions drowsily. Overall he was far more relaxed than he should have been, provided Nanu’s suspicions were true.

Nanu took the medkit from beside his computer and began inspecting Guzma’s wound. He delicately lifted his sleeve a bit, noticing Guzma’s steel colored gaze upon him as he did so.

“Bleeding’s stopped; that’s good.” Nanu stated as he retrieved some gauze. “You washed it, right?”

“Yeah.” Guzma answered impatiently.

Nanu grinned a bit, his crimson gaze flicking up to meet Guzma’s, but he’d already looked away.

“That’s a good boy,” he teased anyway as he began steadily wrapping the injury.

Those words set Guzma’s teeth on edge, the tendon in his neck showing briefly as he tensed. Days of self-medicating and barely sleeping had taken a visible toll on him. The dark circles about his eyes were even more pronounced, his lips and cheeks a touch more pallid, but in response to those words a little bit of color returned.

“Whatever,” he said reflexively.

This wasn’t the sort of tension Nanu had expected from him. Like a wire frayed and stretched taut it begged to be broken. Instead of getting up, Nanu just set the medkit aside when he was finished binding the wound.

“You’re welcome to stay here for the night. Don’t want you getting attacked again on your way home.”

For the first time he breached that little bubble of personal space without absolutely needing to, lightly setting his hand upon Guzma’s shoulder. The younger man didn’t flinch away. Instead, he turned an almost imploring gaze toward the other.

That was really all the confirmation Nanu needed.

He slid his hand further forward, spanning his thumb and fingers across the back of Guzma’s neck. His hair was silky soft, just like his skin. He brushed his thumb beneath the boy’s ear, garnering only that odd stare; unreadable yet somehow alluring. A gaze like a wild beast's, untamed, ready to lash out or roll over in the flash of a second.

Unstable as his emotions. Frightening. So incredibly breathtaking.

As he stared at the boy, crimson gaze trailing down the side of his neck, he longed to get closer. He wanted to slide up against him, grab him by the hair and kiss him, this time hard on the mouth.

Right now, however, was not the time. Guzma was exhausted, his nerves were frayed and he desperately needed rest. If he were to get spooked and run off again, there was no telling what’d happen to him out there.

Nanu withdrew his hand a bit, distancing himself by an inch or so.

“There’re beds downstairs, unless you’d rather sleep on the couch again?”

Just like that, the tension eased. Guzma kept a sideways stare upon him for a moment before looking down. He pretended to think on it as he wrung his hands, gripping himself a little too hard.

“The uh… couch is good.” He stated distantly.

Nanu couldn’t help but smirk. Guzma looked so cute right now. Tired and disheveled; oddly vulnerable. Just what was going on over in Po Town, anyway? Whatever was happening to him had been going on for a while. It wasn’t just a one-night affair of getting randomly attacked in the night. He figured he could ask about it in the morning.

“Alright,” he said, giving the boy’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before standing up.  
  
He left the room to fetch a blanket and pillow.

The moment Guzma got settled in his designated space, still fully clothed, curled up comfortably in his loose, clean hoodie, and the lights were turned off all aside from the dim monitor’s glow of Nanu’s computer across the room, he fell asleep near instantly. It was as if he hadn’t had a solid night’s sleep in weeks and only now was able to relax.

Nanu remained on his own side of the room, only occasionally sending unreadable little glances toward the boy resting quietly upon the sofa. For someone so boisterous in his waking hours, Guzma slept as quietly as a kitten.


	8. Chapter 8

 

For the first time in weeks Guzma awoke without a hangover or that familiar, heavy depression weighing upon his back. He mercifully couldn’t remember his dream, either, and was in the thick of that drowsy, half-aware state which often followed deep uninterrupted slumber. He nuzzled into his pillow and arched his hips minutely, sliding his hand down to grip himself through the soft fabric of his pants. He was incredibly hard, his cock stiff against his palm as he slid his hand down to give it a good firm squeeze. Pleasure raced hot through his nerves and he pressed into it for more.

A soft weight upon his thighs and a plaintive purr brought him out of his haze and he stilled.

_Oh, shit._

He lifted his head slightly and looked around to make sure he was alone aside from the veritable army of meowth. Task completed, he pressed his face into the pillow with a grimace and stopped touching himself immediately, gripping the covers instead.

He couldn’t believe he’d almost jerked off on Nanu’s couch. What a way to thank the man for helping him out again.

With a heavy sigh he sat up, placing the pillow over his lap, hugging it slightly in a manner that seemed almost childishly cute. He combed through his hair with the fingers of his free hand. It was clean and fluffy from the shower the night before; soft and unruly as was typical when he washed it and let it dry on its own… or slept on it while it was still damp.

He turned his gaze toward the door, wondering if he should bail. Figure out a ‘thank you’ or an apology some other time. He was no good at either of those things, anyway.

Beneath the protective pillow, however, his arousal throbbed relentlessly. It twitched in intervals, snagging his attention whenever he tried to think about anything else. Never before had he been more annoyed by something so simple. His self-control was not nearly strong enough to ignore it. He gripped the pillow hard, his mind skimming through the options he had for dealing with the problem.

He could take care of it here and hope Nanu didn’t show up; the riskiest option. Or he could go downstairs to the bathrooms. They were single accommodations, definitely equipped with locks.

Immediately he decided on that one, getting up and leaving the pillow behind. He was in such a hurry he didn’t hear the soft footsteps coming up the stairs just as he opened the door into the tiny hallway which led to them. He went forth and nearly ran right into Nanu, who smirked at the flustered look on Guzma’s face.

“You in a hurry?”

“Yeah, I mean, no,” he corrected himself rapidly. “I’m jus--”

He stopped talking when Nanu gently touched his arm, trailing his fingertips up the back of it. He stopped just under the sleeve of the boy’s hoodie. Guzma suppressed a violent shudder, his arousal tensing in response to the light contact. He may have winced slightly at the pain of it, twitching bodily as Nanu so casually invaded his personal space with all the care of a concerned adult.

“It’s okay, don't have a heart attack, now.” Nanu chuckled, “Hurry up. I have something I want to ask you about.”

Guzma nodded and with that they parted ways, the former going much more rapidly in the opposite direction. Part of him had wished Nanu would’ve just pinned him against the wall then and there, the older man taking charge and gripping him through his pants only to find him already rock hard and needy. A bigger part was mortified at the very thought. It was this confusion which had him nearly sprinting to the bathroom.

The moment the door was shut and locked behind him he thrust himself against the wall, one hand firmly around his cock. He leaned against the bitingly cold tile as he jerked himself off, panting harsh and frustrated as all he wanted to do was get this over with.

Behind tightly closed eyes he tried not to think about the man waiting for him upstairs. How could he look him in the eye after this if he did?

But that didn’t matter, because he couldn’t stop himself even if he tried. The thoughts came flooding in the same way they had for the past week or more, overwhelming his reason with blind desire, wrestling it to the ground with claws anchored _deep._

“F-fuck,” he hissed, arching a bit as the fantasy took hold.

He envisioned Nanu behind him, body pressed against his, holding him gently as his hand travelled down Guzma’s navel. He gritted his teeth, tightly shut eyes stinging with tears as Nanu breathed hot against the back of his neck and whispered encouragement.

 _“Not so fast...”_ he’d suggest as he wrapped his own hand around Guzma’s.

Then a bit more vehemently,

_“Slower, boy. You don't need to force it.”_

Guzma did as his imagination told him, biting his lip to keep back a pitiful whimper.

_“There you go…That’s right…”_

The approval he imagined in Nanu’s voice sent chills down his spine. His breath hitched as his orgasm rose even forcing himself to go at this easy pace. His thoughts became jumbled as his arousal crested.

_“Good boy.”_

He remembered the way Nanu had said it last night. His hand against the wall closed into a tight fist. The words repeating in his head like a mantra until—

“Fuck…!” he gasped as his cock began to pulse wildly in his hand. _“Oh, f—”_

He pressed his face into the crook of his arm to silence himself as he nearly doubled over. With how gently he’d been touching himself he hadn’t expected the sheer force of the climax. It took him off guard completely.

Wave after wave of ecstasy tore his nerves asunder; all the while he pictured Nanu holding him, kissing him lovingly as he shook and nearly fell to his knees. He could only guess at the mess he was making, each powerful pulse of his cock felt beneath tight fingers. He counted nine, ten, _eleven._

Breathing hard he milked the last few drops from his cock when at last it began to abate, not caring when some of it rolled down the backs of his fingers and ended up inside his boxers.

Only now, in the shuddering aftermath, was he aware of how alone he truly was; of the cold tears upon his cheeks and the shame weighing heavily within his stomach.

It took him much longer than he would have liked to clean up the wall and the floor. Every moment was a punishment, an affirmation of just how fucked up he was. Afterward he looked in the mirror as if to make sure his indignity did not exist like a beacon upon his chest. He washed his hands and fixed his hair before at last leaving to head back upstairs.

On his way there he kept his breathing even, putting on that calm tough façade he’d perfected over the years. As if nothing had happened he entered the main area and found Nanu waiting for him.

“What happened, you get lost?” he joked in that flat way of his, “I was about to start looking for a body.”

Guzma rolled his eyes with a low snicker that may as well have been a growl, “Whatever, old man. You said you had something to say to me?”

And thus the subject was successfully changed.

“I was wondering if you’d like to go get breakfast with me before heading back to Po Town.”

“Hold up, what?” Guzma was genuinely surprised by the offer, “You won’t mind being seen with me in public?”

“We can get it to go.” Nanu responded nonchalantly as he threw on his jacket.

Despite any misgivings, it had been a long, long time since Guzma had gotten anything actually good to eat. Scrounging didn’t offer much other than berries. Fuck he was so sick of berries.

“A’ight, yeah… so…” he idly rubbed the back of his neck, “where are my shoes?”

 

((()))

 

As the hours steadily crept by Plumeria’s concern rose. She hadn’t expected Guzma to completely _disappear_ after what happened last night. It was well past noon and he still hadn’t returned nor had she heard anything about his whereabouts. Nothing other than the fight he’d gotten into last night shortly after leaving, which had done little to put her mind at ease.

She’d told the scouts to keep an eye out for him and still, nothing. It was enough to make her nauseated with worry.

Against the banister she leaned, peering for the hundredth time down at the door as if expecting him to arrive at any moment. Her patrols were becoming more frequent. Each time the door opened she’d be there, her heart sinking when it wasn’t Guzma who came striding in.

She was in the middle of pacing back to her room when a grunt came running up to her. She’d been so out of it she hadn’t even noticed the boy until she nearly walked right into him.

“Yo! I found the boss!” the grunt exclaimed excitedly.

Plumeria’s expression lit up with obvious interest followed by concern. She crossed her arms.

“Well?”

“He’s with that cop, Nanu.”

“What’s Guzma doing with Nanu?” She asked, worried.

Was it because he got hurt in the confrontation she’d heard about last night? Guilt weighed on her at the thought.

The grunt shrugged, “No idea, yo. They jus… chillin’, I think? They went through the meadow together. That’s the last I seen of ‘em.”

Now she was even more concerned. “Are you sure they’re just hanging out?”

He nodded, “Pretty sure.”

“Okay… Keep keeping watch for me.” She firmly patted the grunt on the shoulder, then, before continuing on toward her room. “Follow them if you can. Tell me if anything happens.”

“Sure thing, yo!” he called out after her, before rushing off.

It wasn’t often a grunt got an excuse to spy on the boss’s affairs; like hell was this one _not_ going to leap headlong into the opportunity.

Unbeknownst to anyone in Po Town, however, Guzma and Nanu had taken one of Team Skull’s boats to the next island over. There were some wary stares from those who glimpsed that symbol displayed so boldly upon the vessel’s side, but no one dared do anything. Nanu kept Guzma close on his heel, leading him like some decidedly dangerous pet. If anyone expressed their concerns, Nanu’s response was a smile and a “Don’t worry, he’s with me.”

One only needed to take a single glance at Nanu to confirm that he was a cop of some sort and therefore clearly had the situation _under control._ At that point, and after receiving one of Guzma’s steely death glares, people were quick to give them a wide berth.

Nonetheless, they wasted no time buying what they wanted and embarking once more. It was clear the Team Skull Boss was unwelcome just about everywhere. Guzma had worked hard for the infamy; for everyone to finally see him the same way he saw himself.

Still, it was nice having Nanu as a shield for a moment. Guzma had almost forgotten what it was like to be a normal member of society. Not that he _missed_ it. After the way he’d been treated, who could blame him?

He was thankful to be back on the boat, heading into the open sea between this island and the next. Far from the prying, _judging_ eyes of the public. He leaned against the railing, letting the cool sea winds wash away all that lingering malaise.  

Out here they stopped for a moment so that the two of them could enjoy their spoils in peace, far from either shore.

Guzma went through his quickly; making no effort to hide the fact he hadn’t had a decent meal in ages. Afterwards he busied himself offering bits of a malasada to the water pokémon swimming near the boat. He seemed childishly bemused by their cries and plaintive splashing as they begged for more.

It appeared any attention, be it pokémon or human, got a reaction from him. It was a trait Nanu had noticed right off the bat. The kid was starved for something, something he clearly hadn’t gotten at home. With his overbearing mother and abusive father, Nanu could only hasten a guess as to what it was. Support from his peers, maybe, or even better, recognition from his elders.

In his time Nanu had met many troubled kids just like him. Most didn’t have the drive, smarts, or tenacity to accomplish what Guzma had, though. Most kept their problems bottled up inside, or lashed out at random; never finding a cause or reason.

Above all, Nanu knew the kid was in desperate need of a support system. Being the leader of a gang didn’t offer much in the way of that, what with having to be the person everyone _else_ looked up to.

At first Nanu was unsure, but after last night it was no longer a question that in Guzma’s eyes, he had become that. The kid had been hurt, and where did he run to? Not to anyone in Team Skull. No. He went to _him._ Directly to the lonely wretch who had saved his life once already.

There were feelings building here and they were anything but one-sided. The kid was dying for approval from someone older than he was… and Nanu was more than willing to give him what he wanted. One way or another, he knew that if things kept going down this path it was only a matter of time before all was laid bare.

The darkness lurking deep within Nanu’s heart simply wouldn’t have it any other way.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting closer!

The rain came down stifling everything beneath a layer of noise. He couldn’t hear it, but Guzma knew something was behind him. Something terrible. He couldn’t distinguish his own tears from the tropical downpour falling down upon him.

Deep, icy dread drove him forward on numb feet. An ominous shadow loped closer, threatening to seize him, rend him to shreds and eat him alive.

He started moving faster, up the hill, up away from his home and toward the pokémon center.

He didn’t look back, but he didn’t need to.

Somehow the sky seemed blacker. The night was devoid of all light, _consumed_ it, even. For the first time the pokémon center was vacant and dark, but he went towards it anyway. He had nowhere else, nowhere which spoke of safety, where anyone could see what was happening and help him.

He was seized before he could even reach the stairs and choked as he was wrenched upward, an angry voice bellowed at him.

“Get the fuck back here you little prick!”

Guzma spun and grasped at his father’s arm.

This was before he found out he could fight back. Before he grew tall enough to rival even most adults. He was small and frail as any eight year old boy might be, easy to overpower, easy to _abuse._ The sheer feeling of helplessness crashed through him like a tidal wave, the humiliation and pain of it stinging his eyes as he tried to fight to find purchase with his feet. This was far from the first time and it wouldn’t be the last.

“Let go!” he screeched, his voice high with shameful fear.

“You think you can just run away from home? Where do you think you’ll go? You think you could survive by yourself out here?”

Before Guzma could respond he was struck. The blow jarred him but not enough to still his struggles. The second one did the trick, leaving him limp and crying like a bludgeoned dog. His father didn’t stop at just that, no. He grabbed him by the hair and smacked him viciously across the face.

With that something broke. It shattered like a pane of glass, exploding outward. Guzma awoke with a shock and found himself falling. A second jolt wracked his entire body as he hit a solid floor. He landed directly upon his wounded arm, but was too stunned to react to the pain. A choked gasp escaped him and he rolled over, bracing one hand upon the floor as he struggled to get his bearings.

He noticed a pair of legs and looked up sharply, grey eyes wide with an unusual gleam of vulnerability as he met Nanu’s own unreadable gaze.

Guzma wasn’t sure how long it’d been since he’d retreated beneath the boat’s generous awning to rest upon one of the seats. It wasn’t his original intention to fall asleep, but with a full stomach and the gentle rocking of the boat to soothe him it wasn’t long before that’s what happened. Judging by the sun’s position he guessed it couldn’t have been longer than thirty minutes. Not even that. Just long enough to have a vivid flashback and embarrass himself in front of one of the few men he respected.

Beneath the sound of his own heavy breathing he could hear the gentle patter of rain upon the awning. Perhaps that had been the catalyst. Whatever the case, he pushed himself up off the floor quickly only to be hit with a wave of dizzy nausea; residual from the dream-induced panic attack.

“What happened?” Nanu asked, “You have a bad dream?”

Guzma barely managed to push himself back up onto the seat, wincing from the ache in his arm. He didn’t answer that question; he didn’t want to. He avoided Nanu’s gaze, messy white hair casting his eyes in shadow. Tentatively he reached for his injury only to stop halfway, thinking better of it.

“I didn’t… f-fuck…” he spoke, his voice remarkably even if not rough from fatigue, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep...”

He must have been more exhausted than he thought if one good night’s sleep didn’t cut it. The nightmare, however, didn’t surprise him. He had them all the time, sometimes triggered by something and other times not. He’d learned to deal with it. Still, knowledge and experience didn’t stop the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, nor did it help the exhaustion in his muscles from fading adrenaline.

Nanu perched beside him and lifted his loose sleeve to get a look at his arm. Murky crimson was welling up to taint the pristine white of the bandage.

“Your injury’s reopened… gotta take care of that before I send ya home.”

He looked up at Guzma, noticing the way the kid avoided his eyes. Even so, he could see how tired he was. The rings around his eyes were still so dark, his gray irises dull. Something haunted lurked just below the surface. The boy just scoffed softly in response.

“Stop fussing over me, old man. You remind me of my mother.”

This statement surprised Nanu somewhat. Guzma seldom mentioned his parents, unprovoked. In fact, Nanu couldn’t remember if he ever had since running away from home.

Still, Nanu smirked.

“If I don’t take care of you who will?”

He didn’t think much about it as he reached up to stroke his hand through Guzma’s hair. The gesture was meant to be soothing, the slowness of it speaking of his fear that the boy might shy from him.

To his relief Guzma relaxed beneath the touch instead, sighing softly through his nose. Finally he glanced over at the older man, his expression unchanged.

“I can take care of myself…”

“Whatever you say, kid.”

He slid his arm around the boy to pull him closer. Guzma complied without a fight, though some tenseness returned to his shoulders. Still he did not pull away even when Nanu placed a gentle kiss upon his crown. The boy’s hair was even softer against the older man’s face, giving the same impression of its owner. The gentle, soapy scent mixed with a hint of berries only enhanced that effect.

Guzma found himself melting into the affection as if he’d never had it before. An insistent weight upon Nanu’s thigh indicated, to his surprise, Guzma’s hand resting there. Nanu backed away but Guzma chased him. Cheek brushed jawline and a sort of rigid hesitation passed before Guzma dipped his head. Nanu rubbed the muscle of the kid’s broad shoulder as the boy nuzzled against his neck. He felt his hot breath against his skin and closed his eyes.

The feeling was so incredibly intimate; so much more than Nanu would have ever expected this soon.

Guzma’s hand traveled up from his thigh, slowly, tentatively as if unsure, dragging up against his stomach before coming to rest around his side to sort of return the embrace.

“I care about you, Guzma…” Nanu spoke softly near the boy’s ear, “If you ever need anything, I’m here for you. I’ll always be.”

A shudder wracked Guzma’s body, his breathing becoming uneven as he clutched onto Nanu a little harder.

A long moment passed like this, with them just holding each other in silence.

Then, Guzma spoke, his voice a quiet, broken thing.

“Shut up, old man...”

 

((()))

 

Back at the police station everything was back to normal. The two of them acted as though nothing had changed, but a gap had been bridged. An element of closeness existed now where once the mere potential had been robbed from them.

A relaxed atmosphere blanketed them both as Nanu redressed Guzma’s wound. Such was plainly obvious by the way Guzma sat leaning against the arm of the couch, absolutely bored out of his mind as he waited for it to be over.

When Nanu gave the affirmative and moved away Guzma perked up a bit.

“Guess you should be heading home now,” Nanu continued, “I bet your gang’s worried sick about you.”

Guzma gave a sardonic _‘heh’_ at that. “Nah. Plums kicked me out. Everybody's gotta know by now.”

Nanu paused what he was doing.

“You never mentioned that.”

“It was why I came here last night. I don’t trust no one else. No _where_ else, neither...”

The admission sent an almost sinister thrill through Nanu’s body. Something dark, clawed, _possessive._ He knew he shouldn’t feed into that side of himself, but he couldn’t help it.

“Why?”

“She wanted me to fix my attitude before I come back.”

His jaw tensed and he looked down, gray eyes dark as thunderheads.

Just as Nanu had suspected, whatever had been going on with Guzma had indeed been happening for a while. Long before he was assaulted last night.

“How do you plan on doing that?”

A long, strangely tense silence followed the question. A tendon in Guzma’s sinuous neck showed as he glanced toward him, then looked away.

Rather than answer, he stood up and threw his hoodie back on.

“She can’t keep me out. I’m the boss; ain’t nothing gonna change that.”

Nanu hid his disappointment expertly, paying attention instead to the meowth lying beside him.

“Come by again soon, alright?”

Guzma paused on his way to the door, sending a little smirk toward Nanu.

“You really want me around that bad?”

“Of course I do.” Nanu responded without hesitation or shift in expression. “You’re the best company I get. Well. _Human_ company.”

He continued stroking the meowth and Guzma looked away, his face heating up. He rubbed the back of his neck and coughed.

“Is, uh… tonight okay?” he finally spoke.

Nanu couldn’t help but grin. “Sounds perfect.”

“A’ight,” he responded casually as he walked off, “See ya.”

“Good luck,” Nanu responded as he watched the young man go.

He furtively observed his masculine gait, the way he kept his head down like a tauros constantly prepared to ram his horns into the nearest challenger.

Nanu’s eyes narrowed as unsavory thoughts flooded his mind.

God, he wanted him _now._ Pinned against a wall and whimpering, completely at his mercy. So powerful, determined, filled with such intoxicating _vigor,_ but absolutely nothing beneath Nanu’s wealth of experience.

He was so young. He doubted Guzma had had anyone much older than himself, before, he doubted he’d ever let anyone else take the lead before either.

He only snatched his gaze away seconds before the door shut behind the boy and left him there in sudden, suffocating silence; that familiar crushing _loneliness._ Nanu could only bite his lip in frustration and scrape his nails down the meowth beside him’s spine. The feline pokémon purred and arched happily beneath the attention, utterly ignorant of her master’s plight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who keeps commenting, you guys keep me alive. :') I love you all.


End file.
